The rain didn't stop for three days. The city seemed to mourn something it couldn't name.
Lora Roth didn't sleep. Not really. She drifted in and out of restless visions — her brother's voice whispering through fire, the crack of gunshots, the scent of smoke clinging to silk. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him — Ronan — standing in the ruin of their childhood home, flame dancing behind him, saying You can't kill what was born in the same fire as you.
Luke found her in the study on the fourth night, the same place she'd stood years ago when she swore never to look back.
He stood at the doorway for a long moment, watching her. The moonlight cut her in half — one side in shadow, the other in cold silver.
"You're scaring them," he said quietly. "The children. The men. Even Soren."
She didn't turn. "They should be scared."
"Lora—"
She finally looked at him, eyes gleaming. "He's alive, Luke. My brother. The one who should've died that night. Do you know what that means?"
He stepped closer. "It means the past isn't done with us."
She gave a humorless laugh. "No, Luke. It means I didn't finish what I started."
Meanwhile, on the outskirts of the city — Black Harbor.
Salt wind tore through the docks, carrying the sound of distant machinery and gulls. A man stood at the edge of the pier, coat flapping, a cigarette burning low between his fingers.
Ronan Roth.
His hair was longer now, a streak of white cutting through black. His face was older, sharper — a man rebuilt from rage and ruin. A scar ran from his temple to his jaw, a reminder of the fire that should have killed him.
Behind him, a group of men waited. Soldiers. Mercenaries. Loyal not to flags, but to power.
"She knows," one of them said. "Your sister. She's seen the footage."
Ronan didn't move. "Good."
"What's next?"
He turned then — his eyes glinting that same green Lora remembered, the same green that haunted her. "Next," he said, exhaling smoke, "we take back the city that was meant to be ours. The Roth name doesn't belong in glass towers and charity galas. It belongs in blood."
One of the men hesitated. "And Luke Roth?"
Ronan smiled faintly — a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "He'll bleed like the rest. But first, I'll make him watch her fall."
Back in the penthouse, Lora watched her son sleeping beside his sister. Luke stood behind her, arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder.
"He's coming for us," she said.
"I know."
"He'll try to use the past."
"He already is."
She turned then, meeting his gaze. "Then we make sure it's the last war either of us ever fights."
Luke nodded slowly. "Together?"
Her lips brushed his jaw. "Always."
But something flickered in his eyes — a secret he hadn't told her.
The next day, Soren intercepted a transmission from the east docks — encrypted, but traceable. It wasn't just Ronan.
He had allies.
A name appeared in the decoded file — one Lora hadn't heard in years.
The Veil.
A syndicate of the city's oldest ghosts — the very ones Luke once commanded before he walked away for her.
And in that moment, as Soren looked at his queen, he realized the truth:Ronan hadn't come back to destroy Lora.
He'd come back to free Luke.